


Behind the Camera

by Moreena



Series: Shameless Smut Series [3]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Photography, Underwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9824486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moreena/pseuds/Moreena
Summary: Trowa's an amazing fashion photographer.  He picked up a job for Relena since she was going out of the country, and a stunning blonde man walked into his studio.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless. Utter shameless. That's all I have.

Trowa had always considered himself an artist. He’d always had an eye for beautiful people, and a talent for capturing them with a camera lens. After college, he’d been scouted immediately, and had clawed his way up the to the top of the industry. He was the best, in the fashion industry and the modeling world, at least out here in LA. Designers wanted him to shoot their clothes. Fashion magazines wanted him to do their shoots. It was a lucrative business, and he flourished. It also helped that all the women in the industry wanted to work with him. He was a gentleman, with never a stray hand, even if he was adjusting a pose. He’d ask before touching any model, and his sister Cathy was his assistant. She was always around to help assure the models were comfortable with him, and that nothing inappropriate happened. She loved to tease him about it in private, that he only kept her as a cover. It was so easy to touch women without straying when you were a gay man.

“I’m always still amazed that your photos come out so good. Considering you don’t like women,” she said one day as they flipped through the stills from the shoot that had just ended.

Trowa’s eye twitched and he bopped her on the head with a notebook. “It’s no wonder I don’t like women since you’re so overbearing as my big sister,” he shot back, though his tone was full of teasing.

She laughed at him and ruffled his hair while he sat at the desk, still clicking through pictures.

“What’s the last shoot of the day?” He asked her.

She took the notebook from his free hand and flipped through it until she came to that day’s date. Humming to herself, she ran her eyes down all the other shoots and their timeslots, until she hit the last slot of the day. It was later than usual, booked in at 7, which was rather late for them. But, if memory served her correctly, the client had a busy schedule. This shoot had also come as a favor. One of Trowa’s friends had called him, begging him to do this one shoot that she couldn’t change. She’d gotten married, and the shoot fell in the middle of her honeymoon. She didn’t want to fly back from Paris for a single shoot and had passed it off, promising him she’d make it up to him one day.

“That shoot that Relena passed off to you. Something for Life magazine, I believe. She didn’t give me any details, only that she’d pay you back after she got back from her honeymoon,” Cathy said with a shrug, handing the notebook over to Trowa so he could look at the details himself.

“Damn her for not giving me any details,” he said with a growl. “Wanna head out then? I’m sure I can handle thing by myself. Client shouldn’t be too demanding. Looks like they just want a few different sets of shots. Help me set up a couple scenes and then take off.”

“Your reputation going to be ok when she shows up and it’s just you and her?” Cathy joked, flipping through for any other details she could find.

She went through the motions, helping Trowa set up three lighting kits with different backdrops. One with a desk set, covered in paperwork with a backdrop of library shelves filled to the brim with books, a leather couch with a table beside it, laden with a crystal decanter set in front of a dark colored wall. The last one Trowa set up so it was facing the huge windows that his studio offered. They took up almost an entire wall, and offered an amazing view of the LA city. By the time they shot this, it would be dark with only the light from the city blinking in the background. Trowa was confident that it would be a breathtaking set, as long as the model cooperated. Sometimes you wound up with a model that thought they knew better. Trowa hated those.

“All set Trowa. Want me to order you dinner before I get going?” Cathy offered.

“No thanks. I’ll worry about it later on,” he said, waving her away.

“Don’t work too hard. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she responded, kissing the top of his head before she grabbed her bag and headed out, closing the door to the studio behind her.

Sighing, Trowa looked at the clock and knew he’d need to keep himself busy. So, he made sure his cameras were primed and ready to go, his lenses ready as well. Then he set about working on proofs to send out from the shoots from earlier in the day. He was so lost in his work, he didn’t hear the knocking on the door. It had to have persisted for at least a few minutes, because the person knocking sounded angry by the way their fist was meeting the wood.

“Coming, coming,” he shouted from the other side of the room, satisfied when the noise stopped. 

Pushing himself out of his desk chair, he stretched, feeling his back give a little crack which felt really good in the moment. He was tall, most of his height coming from his legs, and his body was corded with muscle that rippled when he moved. A thick fall of brown hair fell over one side of his face, obscuring one of his vibrant green eyes. He didn’t look like a traditional photographer. Most of his peers prided themselves on looking clean cut and polished, especially when working with models and potential future clients. Trowa didn’t give a damn about any of that. He needed to be comfortable when he was moving around, doing whatever he had to do to get a shot. There was one memorable time he’d handed Cathy his camera, and laid out on his stomach in a puddle of mud, so Cathy could hand it back to him, let him get the shot, then take it back. That shot had won him an Atruim award just a few years ago.

“Sorry about the wait,” he said as he pulled open the door, hoping he sounded sincere.

He wound up face to face with a blonde male of about average height. He was about a head shorter than Trowa, his hair the vibrant pale blonde that looked fake, but he could tell that it was a natural platinum. The only thing that interrupted the color of his hair was the pair of aviator sunglasses perched on top of his head. The blonde was engrossed in something on his phone, and took a moment before he responded to Trowa, his fingers flying across the screen as he typed out something.

“No worries. I’m a little early,” he admitted, finally looking up.

Trowa was stunned again. Yes, he’d photographed all shapes, sizes, and colors in his time as a photographer. But, he’d never had someone with such natural blonde hair, and eyes so blue it was like being tossed into that point where the ocean meets the horizon on a clear day. He knew he was being unprofessional, but the sheer beauty of the blonde before him had rendered him speechless. Part of him wished Cathy was here, just because she was so good at smoothing things over when Trowa slipped into his artistic headspace.

“I’m Quatre. Quatre Winner,” the blonde said, his voice soft, but with a tone of authority.

The name seemed familiar, but Trowa couldn’t quite place it. He was sure it would come to him. Or he’d find out once he actually let Quatre into the studio to work.

“Trowa Barton. Nice to meet you,” he said, moving out of the doorway to allow the blonde inside.

He strolled in like he owned the place, a small duffel bag on one shoulder, and a suit bag in the other hand. He dropped both onto the couch in the one lighting set up and gave himself time to look around. Trowa’s studio was impressive. It was the top floor of a repurposed warehouse, outside the city. The walls and ceilings were white, and half of it was devoted just to props and random sundries that one could need for a photoshoot. The other half was devoted to actual working space. Space for shooting, for different lighting kits, and Trowa’s massive desktop set up, with external servers and hard drives, to edit and store all his images.

“This is very impressive. Even Relena’s set up isn’t this massive,” Quatre said after a long moment, turning towards Trowa, catching the brunette staring at him.

“Relena’s popular for other things. She’s more of a traveling photographer. She’s a location shooter. Just goes where she needs to go. I prefer having my subjects come here, most of the time. It’s more comfortable, and I don’t have to worry about the weather, usually,” Trowa said with a laugh. “Now, tell me about this shoot we’re doing tonight.”

“Relena didn’t tell you? Oh, I’ll kill her,” Quatre groaned out, covering his face with his hand. “It’s a two-part thing… I was told black suit and tie for the first thing. They want some business-looking shots with the desk, and some sort of thing with the couch and the glass. I wasn’t really paying attention to the technical aspects of it. She just… Gave me a bag with clothes for the other thing she roped me into. I don’t even know what it’s about, just what I have to wear,” he groused, looking over at Trowa with a mixture of fear and confusion.

“Well that’s not helpful. I don’t have any notes on it either,” Trowa said, wondering what in the hell Relena had roped the blonde man into. “What wardrobe does it call for?”

At this, Quatre’s cheeks turned red, all the way up to his ears. “It’s… It’s not much of a wardrobe,” he finally managed to say.

Now, Trowa was desperately intrigued. “Oh really?” He queried.

With a full body sigh, Quatre moved to the duffle bag and brought back a smaller bag stuffed with tissue paper. He pulled it out and set it on the table nearby, holding open the bag for Trowa to peer into. The brunette did so, curiosity written on his face. What he saw inside made him chuckle. It was all skimpy looking underwear. Which wasn’t going to cover much of the blonde boy next to him.

“Not much of a wardrobe indeed,” he said, putting a hand over his mouth in a paltry attempt to stop his laughter from bubbling out.

Quatre’s eyes narrowed and he slipped his phone out of his back pocket, fingers flying angrily as he typed, before he pressed the speakerphone button and held the phone in his hand, in between himself and Trowa. They listened to it ring several times before it picked up.

“Hello?”

The voice sounded winded, but not sleepy. No, Relena sounded like she’d just finished up something and had grabbed the phone in the nick of time.

“Relena. It’s Quat,” he said, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

“Ooooh, Quatre,” she replied, instantly sounding more alert and chipper. Like she’d planned this whole thing out.

“I’m here with Trowa. For that photoshoot you passed off to him. He doesn’t have any notes on it, and you didn’t tell me anything except to bring the bag.”

Relena let out a low laugh, her mirth obvious at Quatre’s mild discomfort. Trowa had to wonder about it, and he snuck a quick glance at Quatre’s face.

“Lena, please,” Quatre practically begged.

“Trowa, it’s for Duo’s website. No face shots. You’ll make Quatre’s already good assets look amazing,” Relena promised.

“Relena! Why did you do this to me? A gay underwear shoot?! You planned this, didn’t you?!” Quatre accused, fingers trembling around the phone in his hand.

“Relax Quatre. Trowa’s gorgeous to look at. I mean, it’s been like four years since you broke it off with Brad. When was the last time you let yourself have a bit of fun with a man? I’m sure Trowa’s excellent, if you wind up sleeping with him.” With those parting words, her cackling laugh was cut off when she hung up her phone, handing it back to her wife, Dorothy. Dorothy took it and set it on the table, shaking her head.

“I’m rubbing off on you. Setting up Trowa and Quatre? You are a devious little thing,” Dorothy said with a chuckle, pulling the shorter blonde closer to her.

“Quatre’s too uptight. He needs to mellow out a little,” Relena replied, kissing Dorothy firmly, to shut her up. They had better things to be doing than talking, or sightseeing in Paris.

 

Quatre looked at the blank screen on his phone, practically foaming at the mouth. She’d planned it all out?! Had booked her honeymoon for the same time as his shoot, and given him over to only the hottest gay photographer in the United States. He didn’t know what to do. And, it wasn’t like he could claim he was straight, since Relena had let that cat out of the bag too. He locked his phone and squeezed his hand around it, resisting the urge to hurl the offending object at the nearest wall.

“Well, that is Relena’s style to spring things on you. Isn’t the first time I’ve been one of her victims,” Trowa admitted with a sympathetic pat on Quatre’s shoulder. 

Quatre didn’t shrug him away, and Trowa held out a bit of hope that they’d at least manage to work together. He didn’t even know what Quatre’s type was, so he wasn’t holding out too much hope for that. At least the blonde was a sight to look at. Trowa would have fuel for his fantasies for months, based on what kind of pictures he took.

“Why don’t we do the shots with your suit first. Get you comfortable with being behind the camera and all that,” Trowa suggested, his fingers trailing away off Quatre’s shoulder, as he turned away to stark checking his equipment.

The blonde was almost confused. Did Trowa really not recognize him, or know who he was? He was fairly well known… Then again, Trowa was really in the fashion world, from what he knew of the taller man. Quatre was a business mogul, had graced so many magazine and newspaper articles, he couldn’t even count them all. But, his last name was a household staple. His name was tied to so many businesses that he was almost too big for himself. Shrugging it off, he headed over to his bags, unzipping his suit bag.

“Changing area is behind that screen over there,” Trowa gestured without even looking up from his camera.

Quatre hurried to change, leaving his slacks and button down draped over a rack. He’d wind up back there to change again anyway, so why move his clothes twice. He smoothed the lapels of his black suit jacket and adjusted the crimson colored tie around his neck, and deemed himself ready.

It was a blur from there. Trowa was in a full-on artist mode, directing Quatre easily, expecting him to follow his directions exactly. They did shots on the couch, Quatre with a glass of amber-colored water in his hand, while he pretended to read something on a tablet. Trowa had him raise just his eyes, and the vibrant blue of his eyes stood out so sharply, that Trowa had to swallow thickly. It was the look of a hunter, stalking their prey. Shaking it off, he kept shooting, finally deeming them done when he had several poses, and multiple shots of each.

They moved to the desk next, and Trowa got a few obviously posed shots of Quatre leaning on it, perched in front. The basic things. Then he got Quatre to pretend to be working. Leaning over the desk, like he was intently studying things. At some point, Quatre draped his suit jacket over the back of the chair and rolled up the sleeves on his shirt, loosening the knot on his tie just a smidge. Trowa’s breath caught in his throat again, and Quatre looked over at him, Trowa snapping away. Quatre had heard that sharp intake, and wasn’t going to let it go. Trowa could almost see the business person that Quatre was in those moments. The ruthlessness, the right for the jugular attitude.

“I think… Think we’ve got it,” Trowa finally said, his breath a little shaky. 

He’d never had an issue like this before when photographing anyone. Was it because it was a man? Was it because Quatre was confident in himself, and knew he was hot? Was it just because Quatre looked at him in such a way that no one had in a while, and it had been that long since he’d last gotten laid? He didn’t know what it was, but something about looking at the blonde man made him want to throw his camera aside and ravish the blonde until neither of them knew their names.

“Shall I go change into the other wardrobe?” Quatre asked, tugging at the knot on his tie more, while Trowa clicked through the last few images on his camera, confident they had quite a few images to work with.

“May as well,” Trowa admitted, switching cameras.

He didn’t want to run the risk of mixing up the shoots. That would be an embarrassment to the pair of them. Trowa adjusted the settings one last time, turning back to decide which set up to use first, when Quatre came back out from behind the screen, in a pair of barely there black briefs. They clung to him, showing off the low dip of his hipbones, the curve of his ass. The black spandex material didn’t hide anything, and if Trowa stared too hard, he could almost make out the outline of his shaft. Trowa had made changes to the set ups, shifting the couch, draping it with fabric, changed the backdrops on both sets, just to ensure Quatre’s anonymity.

“Pick where you want to start first. I assume you’ve got three changes?”

“You assume right,” Quatre responded, a lilt of teasing in his voice.

Quatre knew the effect he was having on the other man, and he was rather proud of it. Like Relena had said, it had been four years since his last relationship, and he’d been too busy to even bother trying to suss out a partner for a no strings attached relationship. He needed discreet after all. It was a heady drug, being able to play another man like the strings of a violin.

The blonde threw himself onto the couch, one leg dangling off the black leather, the other propped up against the back, the white fabric underneath him contrasting with the material of the underwear he was wearing. Trowa had to focus on actually taking pictures, snapping them quickly, grateful that the lights put him in a bit of shadow, which helped mask his body’s reaction to the lithe blonde parading about in just his underwear.

Quatre changed backdrops and they shot more, before he changed again and they repeated the process with the new pair of underwear. It was obvious that Quatre was enjoying his power over Trowa, and being in such a state of undress in front of a stranger. By the fourth pair, Trowa was hard in his jeans, just from seeing the expanses of pale skin on display. And Quatre’s cock was hard too, straining the front of the skimpy briefs he was wearing. If Trowa stared hard enough, he could make out the beginnings of a wet spot on them too.

“Last pair I have,” Quatre said, when he got up, walking with his legs splayed out a little, just because he was rock hard, and he didn’t think it would be going down any time soon.

Trowa swallowed hard, both grateful and saddened that their time together is almost over. Quatre came back out from the screen and hadn’t bothered with the robe. No, this time he was in a forest green colored thong. Without even meaning to, Trowa let out a low wolf whistle. Quatre’s cheeks heated for a moment, before he recovered, moving across the space to the windows of his studio. Arching an eyebrow, the brunette tracked his progress, camera at the ready. He snapped a couple quick shots of the blonde in motion, uncaring that he probably wouldn’t use them for their true purpose. He’d keep them for himself damnit!

Quatre pressed himself against the middle of a window, sucking in a sharp breath as the coolness of the glass contacted his heated skin. He flashed Trowa that come-hither look, and pushed his head back against the glass, waiting. He heard the clicking as Trowa snapped away, and it was almost like for every picture that the other man took, Quatre’s cock got harder, and his need to have sex with the photographer increased.

“Touch yourself if you want,” Trowa breathed out, hoping the lust in his voice didn’t make it tremble.

As he spoke, he zoomed his lens in on Quatre’s crotch, snapping a picture of the material bulging around its owner’s package. He was practically drooling, fighting back the desire to not drop the camera and touch the blonde man himself.

“Are you just going to watch, or you want to help me?” Quatre purred, his voice husky with arousal, even as one of his hands strayed down to caress his cock, giving it a lazy squeeze.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Trowa weighed his decisions, wondering what the best course of action would be. He wasn’t likely to see the blonde again, and if discreet was needed, then he didn’t have to worry about his proclivities getting spread around.

“Make it a good show and I’ll help,” Trowa found himself spitting out, surprised at his own boldness.

The blonde didn’t disappoint. He threw his head back and squeezed his cock harder, stroking himself through the silky material of the thong. The tip was already starting to poke out from the top of the pouch, and it smeared a wet spot on his lower abdomen. He was bold, riding that high of forbidden lust, of doing this for a stranger. It made him shake with lust, his hands trembling as he tucked the material underneath his balls, freeing his cock to the cool air of the room, and that piercing green gaze. Trowa didn’t want to break eye contact with the sight before him. But, if he was going to participate, he needed lube, and condoms. Relena had really set them up, because he’d seen those in the bag with the underwear. He’d have to decide to slap her or send her a fruit basket later, after this was all over and done with.

By the time he returned to the vision he’d left, Quatre’s hand was stroking his cock rapidly, panting harshly. His eyes had slipped closed, and he was in a state of pure bliss.

“Trowa… I want you,” he panted, eyes fluttering open and locking gazes with the other man.

It stole Trowa’s breath away, and he advanced forward, mesmerized by the vision before him. He wished he had four hands. Two to capture this erotic beauty on film for his own viewing pleasure, and two to prep and hold him while he fucked the boy within an inch of his life. Before Trowa could say anything, Quatre released his cock and turned around, pressing his chest to the window, thrusting his ass up and out towards the taller man.

“That’s a pretty invitation,” Trowa purred out, snapping open the lid on the lubricant, advancing even closer.

He warmed the liquid with his hand for a moment before he set it on the floor, stepping between Quatre’s legs, spreading them open a little more with a gentle nudge of his foot. Hooking a finger in the strip of thong that ran along the cleft of the blonde’s ass, he tugged it aside and smoothed a wet finger against the blonde’s offered hole. Watching it twitch in anticipation, he pressed forward, watching the ring of muscle flutter and contract as it slowly accepted his intrusion. Quatre let out a low moan, shifting his weight on his feet, pushing backwards to take in more of the digit, impatient with the careful touches.

“I won’t hurt you,” Trowa insisted, watching the other man carefully, taking his time as he stretched the blonde out with one finger, nudging and crooking, feeling the fine trembling of Quatre’s body around him. 

He went slow, as much as he wanted to just hurry it along and bury himself in that irresistible tightness, and he could tell Quatre wanted him to go faster too. One finger gave way to two, and he could press in deeper, fingers curling as he hunted for the blonde’s prostate, pressing firmly against the spongy bundle of nerves when he found it. Now Quatre howled, rocking his hips backwards, greedily fucking himself on Trowa’s fingers, like he’d never had such pleasure before.

“Do it! Do it please. I can’t wait any longer,” Quatre whimpered, looking back over his shoulder at Trowa, eyes lidded with desire, face flushed.

Nodding carefully, Trowa popped his jeans open with one hand, shoving them down enough to free his cock. It was difficult to rip open the condom wrapper with lube on one hand, but he finally managed it, dropping the wrapper to the floor when he was done. Sucking in a deep breath, he carefully rolled the latex onto his shaft, making sure it was on properly before he pressed himself forward, the tip nudging at Quatre’s hole. Quatre kept his breathing steady, his body as relaxed as he could make it in the circumstances.

It was a slow, long press. Trowa fought for every inch of Quatre’s ass, forcing himself inside that amazing heat, watching with delight as Quatre scratched at the window, fingers unable to find purchase on the smooth glass. The blonde took every inch beautifully, and begged for more with whimpers and soft spoken pleas that only made Trowa harder. Giving a short thrust once he was seated inside, and after he’d felt nothing but Quatre’s trembling, and the fluttering of his ass around his cock.

“Yes!” Quatre howled, hands balling into fists against the glass, pushing himself backwards in an attempt to recreate that feeling.

He wasn’t cruel by any means, and seeing how desperate Quatre was for it now, Trowa took hold of those slim hips, fingers pressing deep into the skin with his grip. Then he began to fuck the other man, hard and deep strokes, the head of his cock aiming for Quatre’s prostate with each slide inside. The blonde was in heaven, stretched wide open, a cock plunging into him without abandon, sending pleasure spiking from his head to the tips of his toes. He didn’t know what he was saying, if anything at all. All he knew was that he wanted the feeling to last forever, and for Trowa to do nothing but continue to fuck him, until he couldn’t remember his own name.

Trowa would have agreed with everything the blonde was thinking, if he knew it. All he knew was that his body had started to move faster and harder, fucking into the blonde almost brutally, in a desperate search for completion. It happened without prompting, or even with Trowa telling Quatre that he wanted him to come. One minute he was slamming into the blonde’s body and withdrawing, the next, Quatre was screaming like he was being murdered, his body clenching down around Trowa’s cock as he came, cock spurting in long pulses against the window. Trowa grunted as he shoved himself in, fighting for each thrust against such clenching, until he shoved himself deep, letting out a low moan as he came, filling up the condom he wore with thick pulses of come.

They came down from their endorphin high together, panting and gasping for breath. When they’d calmed down, and the sweat was starting to cool on their skin, Trowa carefully withdrew himself from Quatre’s body and disposed of the condom, coming back to the blonde and hoovering nervously.

“Do you need anything?”

“Water would be great,” Quatre admitted, his mouth suddenly feeling like a desert after all his begging and screaming.

Trowa nodded and disappeared for a moment before he came back with a bottle of water and a towel from somewhere. Quatre drank greedily, draining half the bottle in a single go, leaning against the window because his legs felt like jelly, and he didn’t know if he had the ability to stand on his own feet unsupported.

“That was something else,” Quatre admitted with a smug smile, feeling like nothing in the world could drag him down in that moment. 

“Amazing sex will do that to you,” Trowa teased, moving forward to take the towel from Quatre, moving to wipe at the window. “I’m going to have to wash this before morning,” the brunette teased.

Quatre’s face went pink as he looked at it, noting the streaks of white that didn’t fully come off, and the imprints from the oils of his skin against the glass. It would be obvious to anyone who looked what had happened there. Thankfully, the aftermath wasn’t awkward. They both acted like adults as Trowa cleaned up, and Quatre changed back into the clothes he’d worn over. He had all his things as they walked to the door together, Trowa showing Quatre out. The closer they got to the door, the more nervous and fidgety Quatre got.

“Do you… Would you like to get together again some time? I’m really busy, but I’m more than willing to make time for you. Even if it’s just a no strings attached thing,” Quatre tumbled out, nerves making him say more than he needed to.

Trowa chuckled, but nodded. “I’d like to see you again. Busy or not. Relena did work so hard, though I think we should leave her hanging for a while.

Quatre agreed easily, and pulled out a business card, handing it over to the taller man.

“Here’s my number. Call, text, whatever,” he said, heading out the door as Trowa looked over the card, noting the name of the business.

His heart fell to the floor as his eyes darted over the stock in his hand, jaw dropping. He’d just fucked the CEO of Winner Enterprises?! He fell against the doorway, knees suddenly weak as realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Now he’d definitely have to see more of Quatre, because he’d had a crush on the man for as long as he could remember. How in the hell he hadn’t recognized the blonde man was beyond him! Relena was probably going to wind up with a bottle of wine and a fruit basket at some point.

**Author's Note:**

> My Gundam tumblr is weiclown. If you want all Gundam Wing, all the time.


End file.
